Point of Balance
by Jilly-chan
Summary: AUyaoi. Leaving the theater, Trowa finds an unlikely connection with an old rival who's been making a few life changes himself. TrowaNichol. Some 1x3. I indulged, yes. Ch. 1 Trowa Ch. 2 Nichol's version I prefer that one
1. Point of Balance

Point of Balance By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: After reading Alithea's last story, I was inspired by her strange, romantic twist of putting an unwilling and unlikely Nichol with Trowa. I like the animosity between the two of them during the GW series. So, I thought I'd write some serious Nichol/Trowa, and have the Alternate Universe setting pick up on the skirt-tail of my longer series Road Rage. It might help to read Road Rage to follow this since this is one ~potential~ tag along to that story. Otherwise, to catch you up, Road Rage is a theater where both Trowa and Nichol were actors. Nichol disliked Trowa incredibly because everything seemed to come naturally to him--and there was a bit of an conflict because of Nichol's attachment to Lady Une, which was a non-issue because Road Rage Trowa has always been in love with Heero Yuy -- but even that has been a rocky relationship at best. This picks up about 2-3 years after Road Rage ended.)  
  
***  
  
If someone asked him later, Trowa Barton wouldn't have been able to pinpoint exactly what might have persuaded him to stop by the fast food restaurant. He had been thinking about the latest show at the Road Rage, called "Bleed," written by their usual red-headed scribe. Thinking about the play seemed to make everything else in life distant enough to remain bearable. And the rest of his apparent composure, well, that was acting. And then from point A to point B, he found himself hungry.  
  
He pulled his familiar, old truck into the asphalt parking lot. The smell of the burgers already carried to him on the late afternoon breeze. It was a Saturday and he was almost half way on his drive home after visiting his step-sister, Catherine Bloom, who had a catering service down state. Her third anniversary with the business was coming up and, at the time, Catherine had employed three full time staff to assist her. Most of Friday evening had consisted of Trowa giving his sister frustrated stares behind the back of her latest addition to her service. Catherine seemed determined that since her new chef was openly gay that Trowa would automatically be interested.  
  
The truth that Trowa had come to accept was that he had only felt one overwhelmingly emotional connection to one person and when one person left so did his interest in romantic love.  
  
Dorothy had been more than supportive, "Everything of your relationship with Heero, all of your love and affection for him made him strong enough to grow past his insecurities. You did that." Then her tone had turned a bit more agitated, "Too bad he felt that growing further meant leaving you." The 'I told you so' he expected never came.  
  
And, eventually, Trowa's hope that Heero was leaving for only a short while was dissolved.  
  
However, Trowa found that perhaps he had grown to a new place as well. After a year, he found himself comfortable around the other actors at Road Rage again. Directing, Saitou was more than pleased that Trowa's punctuality was no longer dependent on his boyfriend's whims. Trowa slipped into a routine of dependability. Trying the latest imported beers at the International Velvet and singing with Juri now and again at the Karaoke Queen.  
  
He smiled while putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the doorway, he hoped that the glass distorted and the weight it seemed that he had dropped off his already slender figure was an illusion. Catherine fed him well when he visited, but, without the necessity of cooking for two, Trowa had found TV dinners the quickest way to satisfy.  
  
Pulling at the door, Trowa paused, catching a glimpse of a little girl running through the fenced in play area. Her hair was silken black, tied in two high pigtails with pink ribbon as a sharp contrast. She screeched as she ran sock-footed around the corner and raced toward a man who waited for her with open arms. Swallowing her in a bear hug that hid most of his face, but not before Trowa recognized the wiry haired actor. Or ex-actor. After the musical, the summer that everything had started to change and settle in their lives, Nichol had decided to leave the theater. Dorothy periodically would supply answers if anyone asked about him, but Nichol had only been part of the Road Rage cast for a short time. Even though Trowa had known him from years before as well, they hadn't been close. He half- smiled at the understatement of that thought, when he saw that Nichol had noticed him as well.  
  
"Well dam . . ." But with a brief glance at the toddler, the burly man checked his language. Letting the girl cuddle his neck, Nichol certainly didn't look half of the imposing figure that he had maintained during their careers together. "Trowa Barton, fancy seeing you here."  
  
***  
  
A strange sentimentality settled over Trowa as he sat at the outdoor table bench with Nichol. Nadia scampered back to the sea of Fruit Loop colored plastic balls and, when he did speak, Nichol kept his eyes fixed on her.  
  
"Dorothy keeps me apprised of the theater," Nichol commented dryly. Love was never lost on Trowa, Nichol had harbored a consistent irritation for the lanky actor ever since Trowa Barton stole away what he considered his Lady's better sense. The Lady who had been directing the Glass House theater during both of their tenures there. Nevertheless, a strange sense of mutual camaraderie lingered as did the autumn sunset.  
  
Trowa chewed a French fry thoughtfully, "Does she?" Their conversation paused while Nadia brought to Nichol the prettiest plastic ball she had found, before returning to explore. Trowa could see the dark set of her eyes, brows and lashes mirrored in Nichol's expression. The question of who her father was sat beyond doubt. And Trowa was rather certain of her mother as well, although the question begged to be asked.  
  
"No reason to speak with anyone else there," Nichol's tone unchanged, still distant. Although, for Nichol to have a conversation with Trowa Barton was a significant change from two years before, when the sight of the other actor did enough to turn his stomach.  
  
"What are you doing now?" Trowa asked demurely, keeping his voice non- confrontational, even though he was increasingly intrigued by Nichol's change. Become a parent intrigued Trowa even though he had no children of his own. He had watch his sister and good friend Duo Maxwell raise their daughter, Helen, together until their divorce. When Catherine left Helen in her ex-husband's more capable hands. Catherine would be the first to admit she was a horrid mother; although, Trowa continually encouraged her. Regardless of Catherine's on-going quest for personal independence and contentment, Trowa loved being an uncle and couldn't see Helen often enough.  
  
"Writing a column for a political magazine in the city," Nichol admitted, "I wanted to set aside a script and write something for myself. Something not connected to the theater." For the first time, Nichol turned to Trowa and met his eyes, "And you?"  
  
Trowa dropped his gaze to examine the left-over, limp fries for his next potato victim. While he had never cared about Nichol's animosity or his opinion before, Trowa always had a persistent inclination to share the truth and often too much of it in conversation. Picking his words carefully, "I've thought about retiring from the theater also."  
  
"Really?" Nichol's eyebrow pushed up into the dark hair he'd let grow out into somewhat longer coiled ringlets. "Wouldn't have expected that from you, Barton. With all of your fancy schools and training and Saitou backing your career. You were practically handed the moon, Barton."  
  
"I liked the indy scene," Trowa said robotically, finding the answers that he'd reiterated to everyone at the theater just the week before, "But I think I'm needing some sort of epiphany or euphoric moment as an actor. I'm feeling rather dry."  
  
"You do look like shi-," Nichol caught himself again, an almost whimsical look of apology on his square features. He rubbed his forehead and sideburns in order to collect himself, "You look pretty ragged actually. I was going to chalk it up to your traveling, but you have a heavy weight to your expression and I'd swe - say you've dropped weight too. What happened? Did Heero leave you?"  
  
And that was all that had to be said.  
  
***  
  
If someone asked him later, Trowa Barton might have said that he started reading political magazines because he wanted to reconnect with the non- artistic world. As if that could inspire him to return to the shadows and stage lights of performing again.  
  
In part, he was curious at how becoming a parent could change someone. After their initial meeting and watching Nadia play, Trowa had been rather surprised when Nichol had produced a pen and asked for Trowa's phone number.  
  
If he didn't know better, Trowa would have felt as if someone, in this case the improbable Nichol, had been picking him up. However, unlike the handful of available men who might cruise him at The Selfish Gene, Nichol had followed the request with not a handful of Trowa's clothing but rather a handful of Nadia. Balancing her on one side while giving Trowa an incredulous look. "Never liked you that much, Barton," Nichol admitted, rather needlessly, "But I can't say I don't understand what you're feeling. About the theater."  
  
For one thing, becoming a father had not kept Nichol from having strong opinions and putting them rather bluntly. Trowa yawned through some of the conservatism; still nothing could be specifically pointed out as a flaw in Nichol's reasoning. He was as talented at manipulating words to his purposes as he had been people. Trowa still couldn't reconcile everything Nichol had been with the person who had so tenderly kissed his daughter's forehead when he thought Trowa had gone.  
  
The show brought itself to a close, a not-so-surprise gathering followed at The International Velvet to celebrate Trowa's participation with the tight knit group. Julia had even smuggled herself into the festivities for a few moments at the beginning so everyone could see the twins. Herself carrying Anastasia while Spike retired early with his sound asleep son, Gren, cradled in his arms. Something told Trowa that it was good that couple had two children since they were such attentive and almost selfish parents.  
  
After Juri made sure that Trowa danced with her before letting him bow off the floor, Dorothy kept him company. Juri fixing her sights on a young woman with blue hair. As long as he'd known her well, Trowa suspected that Juri had a preference for individuals with no inhibitions about dyeing their hair.  
  
"I can't believe you're leaving me." Dorothy balanced her chin on and leaned against her hands, watching Trowa intently as he tasted the drink someone had insisted he try that night. "What ever am I going to do?"  
  
"You're going to be fine." Trowa nudged her affectionately with his elbow, then decided he liked whatever the drink was and tried it again, "Especially with whats-his-face coming back. With this long distance thing you've started, I'm sure having him back in the theater will cause all sorts of concentration troubles for you."  
  
Dorothy laughed along with him, before becoming somber again, "I didn't think that having Ruka come back meant that you wouldn't be here. It doesn't really change anything. We've been co-conspirators for the past . . . oh it's been too long. Damn you, Trowa Barton." She playfully slapped Trowa's shoulder, jostling his drink a little.  
  
"And here I thought that was supposed to be my line."  
  
Before Trowa could think of a comic retort for Dorothy regarding his spilt drink, he almost spilled it all at the sound of that voice.  
  
"Be civil, Nichol." Dorothy sat straighter, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I was in the area," Nichol started. Then balancing his hands into his dark leather jacket and standing rather awkwardly, he corrected, "I stopped by to see the show."  
  
"Without telling me?" Dorothy said, half-puzzled and half-delighted. Trowa appreciated the perplexed rush of emotions. Dorothy had to have been Nichol's only friend for years, and even their relationship was distant at best. Trowa felt some urge to stand as well, and leaned back as the other two shared a prolonged embrace. "You got a weekend free from Nadia?"  
  
"Don't say it like I'm pleased she's gone," Nichol's familiar scowl pulled down on his lips, creasing his brow, "She's with her mother this weekend because of the holiday." He glanced between Trowa and Dorothy as if uncertain what to say next. Then a half-crooked grin pulled at his cheek, and for once, an amiable sparkle pierced his dark eyes. "This place brings back the memories. If I remember correctly, this is the song where Yuy used to tangle it up with you on the dance floor, Barton."  
  
Trowa almost appreciated the familiar rivalry, even under the mild sting. Dorothy appropriately gave Nichol a verbal undressing, all the while Nichol keeping the wicked grin and glancing between Dorothy's scolding finger and Trowa's immobile stare.  
  
"Want to dance?" Nichol inquired, holding out his hand irritably ambiguous as his hand hovered in the air between them.  
  
"Sure," Dorothy took it and pulled Nichol away. The music seeming louder since no one was speaking directly to him anymore, so Trowa watched as the other man spun Dorothy around, letting her skirt spin around her pale legs. Dorothy catching Nichol's hand again just as soon he pulled her back close. Tracing his hands down her sides as she laughed in his face, putting her hands on top of his and pulling them back from their teasing exploration.  
  
It took a few tries before the server could get Trowa's answer regarding a new drink.  
  
***  
  
He had paid for caller ID for months before actually getting all of the equipment he needed to use it. If someone asked him why it took so long, the honest answer was that most of the time Trowa was home he had intentionally left the phone off the hook. Heero had never given him his messages anyway, always finding that Heero got distracted before remembering to pass them on. Trowa hadn't had anything to distract him in a long while, so in his free time he screened calls.  
  
"Catherine, unavailable, the bank," Trowa half-winced, checking through the messages from a Saturday afternoon spent running errands. While working at the art museum a few days a week paid for food, other financial concerns and poor management were not long in coming to haunt him. "Unavailable again." Trowa clucked his tongue in amusement, then, "Heero Yuy."  
  
His name was probably the only one that could make the bank seem like a small problem. And Trowa found it easier to sprawl back on the couch for a moment, taking an uncomfortable pillow from the small of his back and holding it against his stomach. Head cradled against one end, both feet and one long arm still touching the thin carpet of his apartment. Closing his eyes, Trowa wondered what might cause Heero to interrupt a peaceful duration of silence.  
  
His first inclination was to call Catherine. The three of them had more or less grown up together. Catherine knew how deeply his affections for Heero had lingered. Years before they developed into something mutual. Then, Heero had left one day. Without warning. Spontaneously. After the first weeks of rather stunned denial, Trowa had come to believe that perhaps there had been something beneficial to Heero's sudden pilgrimage. Their co- dependence was something that Catherine and Juri had always hinted at as a potential problem. But, when Heero left, Trowa had found that he was no different than he had been while he was waiting for Heero the first time. Only each day, he had the shadow of a true memory - waking up with dark blue eyes watching for him. A low rumble of lust to greet him.  
  
If you were to ask him, the only way Trowa could have set that aside would have been if Heero had gone. And he knew he was idiot enough to want Heero back. So when the phone rang again he answered within one ring.  
  
He bent like flexible reed at the middle, reading the caller ID with as much incredibility on his face as in his voice, "Hello?"  
  
"Barton, since I live on the way, I was wondering if you were going to be visiting your sister for Thanksgiving?" After a pause, "I have something you might be interested in."  
  
Half fearing nothing would surprise him after that, Trowa replied much more collectedly than his initial reaction, "Sure, what the hell."  
  
And after he put the phone down, he couldn't have told you why he said yes.  
  
***  
  
"No Nadia?" Trowa glanced around, not really caring how sloppy he looked since he'd driven most of the way in an autumn downpour of rain. Between running from the car to Nichol's house, most of his shoulders had been soaked through. His hair he pulled back from his face. Nichol waited at the doorway with a bemused expression, his features smooth for once not furrowed and angry.  
  
"Holiday again." Nichol closed the door, letting the November weather come through only as sounds of periodic thunder.  
  
"So she's staying with Shiori?" Trowa asked, knowing that it wasn't a harmless question. Not long after Nichol, Shiori had disappeared from the Road Rage. The rumor had always been that she'd gone to the west coast to have her child.  
  
Nichol seemed nonplussed, "Of course, don't tell me you're the last one to have figured that out, Barton." Nichol's house was strangely bright and white, with gold and bronze ornamentation on the lamps and various tables scattered between the furniture. "Shiori still has a bit of a selfish streak in her, but I can't keep the courts from granting her some maternal privileges."  
  
At the mention of selfish natures, Trowa glanced at Nichol wonderingly. The irritable man had done little to demonstrate anything but selfish motivation throughout their work together. Not that Trowa reciprocated any resentment toward Nichol, "I'd imagine you could afford a better lawyer."  
  
"And I'm thankful for that," Nichol said pleasantly enough, but his narrow glance warned that Trowa was entering topics that were not his business. "Otherwise, Shiori would have kept Nadia in that vile, whore-house of failed actresses." The bitter edge wilted with a bit more tempered grace, "Shiori deserved better herself anyway. No place to be raising a kid."  
  
"And I'm surprised you keep this place clean." Trowa continued conversing politely, sitting on the off-white couch and feeling quite like a country fellow in his burgundy and brown colors, flannel and jeans.  
  
"Tidiness is in my nature," Nichol almost shrugged, before adding, "I had Dorothy redecorate for me when I moved to the new house. This is her doing."  
  
Trowa chuckled lightly, "I can see that now. But you wanted me to stop by because . . ."  
  
"Because," Nichol kept no further disclaimer, "If he hasn't told you yet, Heero Yuy should be calling you to tell you that he's getting married."  
  
Trowa blinked a few times, before letting his mouth drop open a fraction. In that exact moment, if you asked him, Trowa would have said nothing ever again would surprise him. Except that one moment later, Trowa found himself pinned back on the couch with Nichol, of all unimagined people, pressing in to take an unexpected kiss.  
  
***  
  
He was torn between being restless or confused. Half wanting to run away from the invasion of the forced exploration, still his jaw responding regardless. Trowa's heart threatening to stop his breath, first by the cruel and forever separation from what he saw as his truest love. And then threatening to stop from the shock of physical sensation and pleasure. Nichol's weight fully pressing Trowa back to recline into the immaculate cushions, his hands however, far from practicing celibacy.  
  
Trowa freed one arm and caught Nichol's with it.  
  
Immediately, Nichol pulled his face back. His eyebrows curiously arched and a look that seemed strangely like inquisitive concern fired in his dark eyes.  
  
"Are you okay?" The texture of the voice questioning him was so foreign, Trowa's heart started again only beating twice as fast.  
  
"Okay?" Trowa gasped, "Okay with . . . okay with what?" Realizing what he was doing, Trowa let go of Nichol's wrist as if he'd awaken with a serpent tangled around him.  
  
Then what could have been technically a look of relief crossed Nichol's features, not that Trowa had ever seen such an expression there before. Startling, the taller man again, Nichol collapsed forward, a silent chuckle rumbling through his chest. Then Nichol's voice, almost unrecognizable again came near his ear, "Remember the petite girl, from Spike and Julia's wedding reception?"  
  
Trowa's memories of Heero spiraled backwards like a rolodex. Each moment with Heero cherished beyond his own life. Things he had wanted to forget, that had forever been imprinted on his personality, his behavior, his desire. "Yes." Trowa closed his eyes, not able to tell the crushing weight of his emotions from the weight holding him captive in reality.  
  
"Apparently, the time away gave Yuy a chance to meet up with her again." Nichol continued to tell the story, holding Trowa in a way that strangely grounded him enough that he could hear what he'd never allowed himself to fear. Knowing that no matter what he had thought, that by no means was his Japanese lover coming back to him. Conveying it into his ear, into his thoughts, the voice was neither indulgent, melodramatic nor comforting. Coming factually and straightforward. Giving each detail to clarify and satisfy Trowa's reflected concerns about Heero's whereabouts and well- being.  
  
"Do you understand?"  
  
For the second time, Trowa responded, "Yes."  
  
Nichol shifted so that his weight wasn't as great, balanced somewhat by his arms, "You aren't going to do anything stupid?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good." Nichol leaned back, then crossed his arms over Trowa's chest, keeping him pinned even though Trowa hadn't yet had a moment to think about moving. "Heero apparently tried to call you but did reach your sister. She gave him a solid tongue lashing, and after speaking to Dorothy and Juri the girls decided that none of them could tell you. So I got drafted."  
  
Nichol leaned forward to peck at Trowa's lips, a mockery of everything he had done before. But instead of becoming cruel, Nichol slipped. The peculiar concern still drained into his eyes, "I know he meant a lot to you. We all want you to move on, but we understand." Trowa could see an awkwardness filtering through Nichol's voice that had been assured just before. "Your sister is waiting for you to come to her. Can you drive?"  
  
It wasn't until Trowa was in the truck and driving rather determinedly toward Catherine's home, that he realized that if he had heard from anyone else he might not have been so distractedly content.  
  
***  
  
If you had asked him, Trowa would have told you that he was only shining with half his power. The only thing to make his smile stretch farther was pleasing Heero Yuy. Trowa couldn't just wave aside more than a decade of affections devoted to that one man, but his indecision about the future was a bit re-evaluated.  
  
He took a position teaching an acting class at a local university, and, within a year, Trowa was directing student productions. Quietly steering hopeful young actors to explore if not their full dream, at least the artistic spirit of their personality. One of his most promising students, Trowa pointed after graduation toward the Road Rage and suggested a little name-dropping of his professor with the director, Saitou, couldn't hurt.  
  
But some things didn't change, as Trowa steered his same Chevy truck, which had seen many better days, into the apartment parking lot. Regardless, he'd been resolved to weather out any changes and follow a different path for a while. Which, if you had asked him, seemed easy enough while he was given the opportunity.  
  
Trowa opened his apartment door and was greeted by lights illuminating the browns and greens of his furniture. Hesitating, Trowa balanced part way in, still leaning against the doorknob.  
  
"Trowa." The voice was too familiar, still imprinted in his natural responses. An unwanted hope tightening around his chest. Sitting in the middle of the room was the long absent, Heero Yuy.  
  
While the Asian man spoke with a solemn tone, Trowa couldn't help the elation covering his own response, "Heero?" Stepping forward, closing the door. Looking at the door, then back at his former lover. "You're not," Trowa shook his head, pulling strength from the decisions he'd made when he first heard of Heero's engagement, "You're here to . . . why are you here?"  
  
Heero stood and looked torn between familiarity and alienation from his surrounding. The same apartment where he had lived just over a year before. The same indecision that Trowa had wanted to reconcile over and over again. He waited.  
  
"Hilde and I have been talking." Heero started without preamble, "And while . . . she agrees with Catherine, that I haven't been . . . here, I've changed. I still . . ." His brows knit, and Trowa remembered trying forever to comfort that expression. Stopping the entire world to reach for Heero and reassure him.  
  
Trowa gathered something from the floor and put it elsewhere, then in the distraction of movement said, "I've loved you for too long, Heero, to stop now." Heero stood attentively, and Trowa noticed for the first time that the aura of aggression that normally accompanied Heero's silence was gone. "But, I'm ready to say that we've both changed. And for the better. Since you left."  
  
"I had to," Heero said simply, "Since it was too easy for me to simply use you."  
  
Trowa nodded; although, he still couldn't imagine anything he wouldn't have done for Heero willingly. And somewhere he heard a whisper of his stepsister's voice suggesting that was exactly where the problem was rooted. "How's Hilde?" Trowa tried accepting what he already knew.  
  
Trowa couldn't miss the subtle differences of Heero's face, the relaxed shoulders, the fingers uncurling from their defensive, subconscious fists. Her name calmed Heero remarkably, and also unleashed a strangely chatty and more than a little nervous conversation. Trowa listened, not knowing what else he could do.  
  
"And you?" Heero appeared interested, or ready for any answer.  
  
"I haven't." Trowa shrugged, resigned to his bachelor's life. Reflecting, he knew that he hadn't gone so far as to even kiss someone since his reactionary string of promiscuity after Heero first left. Except for Nichol's strange way of breaking the news of Heero's engagement. If he could count that. Trowa felt a delicate embarrassment, wondering what Nichol thought he might have needed then.  
  
And then, a subtle curiosity as to how far Nichol would have let that thought go. Nichol.  
  
***  
  
"I was on my way to Catherine's and thought I'd stop by."  
  
"Without asking?" Nichol stood in the doorway, a bit dressed down and looking as if he'd been well played on. Nadia smiling bashfully from her father's knee. The recognizable snarl half-way slipped into his tone, tempered for his daughter's ears.  
  
Trowa good-naturedly shrugged, "Can I come in?" With only a few non-verbal protests, Nichol did open the door. "You bring out the best in your daddy, Nadia." Trowa smiled at her, as she watched him behind very serious and dark eyelashes and waved hello by swinging her purple skirt with both hands.  
  
"Unlike some people." Nichol said, quietly.  
  
"Mostly me." Trowa nodded, lifting his conversation for Nichol alone, "Why is it I bring out the worst in you?"  
  
"Probably because everyone thinks you're somewhat . . . perfect." Nichol replied, although Trowa hadn't expected anything except an honest answer. "If they saw you now, they'd know how incredibly rude you are for not calling." Trowa was amazed at how politely Nichol could deliver his insults. Nadia had lost interest with the hem of her skirt and had darted off toward the back hallway. Nichol watched her until she was out of sight, then lifted his eyebrows, waiting. Not inviting Trowa in any further.  
  
"I'm not perfect." Trowa filled the pregnant space the best he could. Suddenly a bit uncertain. Knowing that he'd come to see how much Nichol might have changed. Coming because, despite everything he told Catherine and Juri and Dorothy, Trowa wasn't happy by himself. Even though the small daily successes appeared to keep him content.  
  
"It irritates me that you pretend to be." Nichol retorted. Crossing his arms. It was at that moment of unbalance, that Trowa pushed back on Nichol's shoulders. Pressing him against the wall between the thermostat and Nadia's three year old pictures. Nichol's voice was a little shaken, but he spoke before Trowa could do anything further, "I suppose your not going to ask are you?"  
  
"No."  
  
Nichol broke off Trowa's kiss by hitting his own head backwards against the wall, "Yeah, I know why you're here. Good grief, Barton . . . Trowa. It's rather pathetic how obvious you are, you do know."  
  
"Are you going to send me away?" Trowa asked for the first time. Wondering if the indifference he had felt toward Nichol's animosity was going to stay indifference or metamorphosis into something else.  
  
"We'll see."  
  
No sooner had Nichol spoken, than Trowa was standing in the hallway as if nothing had happened between them. "What about Nadia?" Trowa asked, acutely aware he was being watched.  
  
"What about me?" Nadia asked sweetly, peeking her head around the corner. Putting one toe around the corner as well.  
  
"I was wondering where you'd want me to take you for dinner?"  
  
Thinking solemnly for a moment, Nadia's face then lit up with an idea. "McDonalds!"  
  
The end.  
  
(Here's a free invitation to read Road Rage if you haven't. I'm somewhat pleased with threads of that story; although, as it was my first long fic it has a few low points. **chuckle** The Gundam Wing characters show up in chapter 8.) 


	2. Balancing Point

Balancing Point By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: I seldom write a fic for pure personal indulgence. Thank you for letting me treat myself with a rare "successful" romance. Trowa and Nichol do not belong to me. This is a random spin off from my longer fic Road Rage, in which the two gentlemen in question were co-actors but far from being friends. Life led them to an interesting point of connection, bringing about a relationship of sex. The idea came to me after Alithea wrote a fanfic proposing the pair, and I couldn't let it sit untried. This is Nichol's perspective of the whole affair, while the former chapter is more from Trowa's. If you write a Nichol/Trowa fic let me know. I'm so intrigued by other perspectives of their chemistry now . . .)  
  
***  
  
Two weeks vacation. Two weeks to stay home with Nadia. Make her breakfast, teach her to tie her shoes, put up with her idea of music pounded away on the piano, and anything else that amused the four year old. Two weeks to celebrate her birthday and the coming first year of school. Nichol was multitasking his day away even before he had opened his eyes. Then there was the minor distraction of teeth scraping, pulling down along his earlobe. Two weeks of uninterrupted interaction with Trowa Barton, also on vacation. Now that, he thought, might be a challenge.  
  
"I know you're awake."  
  
Nichol didn't react. Trowa was a decent lay, and he was exceptionally good with Nadia. Still, Nichol couldn't help remembering the years of wanting to screw Trowa Barton figuratively and then through a series of strange events, he was actually doing just that -- on a regular basis. He furrowed his brow, and knew that anyone watching could see the range of emotions following each of his morning thoughts. Barton supplied several needs in Nichol's life quite adequately, but it did leave a great many subjects not talked about.  
  
Like the affectionate expression in the green eyes that fixed on his as soon as Nichol opened them. Trowa reaching around to tangle the fingers of his right hand into Nichol's over-grown dark curls while kissing along Nichol's jaw.  
  
The affection Trowa had for him was rather hard to explain. Nichol had spent most of his energy hating the slender actor. Hating him for his country boy success story in the business, hating Barton for charming everyone with his seamless good nature including the woman Nichol loved, hating Barton for appearing so goddamn perfect. Which in many ways he was. Close to perfect.  
  
Nichol hissed, to that point immobile during Trowa's physical demonstration of saying 'good morning.'  
  
Always perfect down to his submissive role in a sexual relationship. Always trying to please the other person.  
  
"Trowa." Nichol grumbled, rolling over to shove off Trowa who was only leaning part way over his chest. Only succeeding in pulling Trowa closer to his back, while the taller man let his right arm wrap around more securely into place. After relenting for a few last sleeping moments, allowing Trowa to finger his wiry chest hair while pressing his own smooth skin full against Nichol's back. Feeling Trowa's deep breaths where the other man's head nuzzled his neck. "Alright, if you're so awake." Nichol murmured, "You go make Nadia breakfast."  
  
"Good idea." And then, the comfortable extra warmth of Trowa's body heat was gone. Nichol heard a brief rustling of clothes and the soft closing of the bedroom door. A childish squeal came not long after as Nichol could imagine Nadia scampering from her own room to the kitchen. Nadia loved Trowa.  
  
Love. Now that was another of the untouched subjects.  
  
If you asked him, Nichol would say that keeping Trowa Barton around simply made life easier.  
  
***  
  
Nichol would say that Nadia, in a large part, redirected his entire life. Somehow, the little peach at the theater had let her self get pregnant, and, when the child was born, Nichol suddenly found himself revisiting emotions he had thought lost to him. He cared for Nadia's well being more than his own interests. A strangely satisfying opportunity to sacrifice everything he had to offer to one individual who depended on him. Nadia loved her father, and Nichol had never realized that someone could return such depth of trust to someone that scolded her, smothered her, and adored her.  
  
A trust that he was just learning to validate through his own behavior. Which was why when gangly actor Trowa Barton just happened to stop at the fast food restaurant where Nadia and he had been, Nichol had long since tempered his immediate gut reactions. At least from verbal expulsion. He couldn't resist the reflexive churn of his stomach.  
  
Even through the bars of the playground, Nichol had recognized the jean clad toothpick legs and green windbreaker. A peculiar smile on Barton's dainty lips. Nichol held Nadia in his arms at that moment, catching himself from cursing directly into her little ears. Then collected the comment into a more tactful, "Trowa Barton, fancy seeing you here."  
  
Of course, Trowa had joined them -- making about two sentences of obligated chitchat, and chewing every bite of his food thoughtfully. Nichol kept an anxious eye on Nadia, knowing that Barton was only succeeding in unsettling his enjoyable evening with silent observations. Neither of them were high conversationalists, least of all in each other's company. The only connection they had after Nichol left the Road Rage theater was a mutual friend, Dorothy Catalonia.  
  
Dorothy kept him apprised of her business at the theater and any juicy tidbits of scandals too good not to pass on. She wisely skipped over any conversation about Trowa Barton, since she (unlike Nichol) was inexplicably fond of the pathetically acquiescent actor. Within those few minutes, Nichol did notice that Trowa was distantly checking his comments. Replies to the stereotypical 'and how is work' questions were premeditated. His girly soft green eyes wore weariness and the casual clothing seemed as if they were still draped from their hangers.  
  
It wasn't a surprise when Trowa said he actually was going to leave the theater. That he was looking for some 'epiphany or euphoric moment' - which amused Nichol. Coupled with the ragged appearance, he found it relatively easy to identify the problem. The only thing, the only person rather who ever got cozy with the stalwart Mr. Barton was his homosexual fascination and childhood infatuation. And for Trowa to be unsettled and unsightly meant one obvious thing.  
  
Never one to spare Trowa, Nichol nailed his suspicions home. Asking quite casually, as if asking for the time, "Did Heero leave you?"  
  
The involuntary wince, the painful, brief squint of those green eyes, as if against the sun that was long below the treetops, was enough of an answer. And to see Trowa Barton uncomfortable fulfilled years of trying to bring about that exact response in any area. Except it seemed unsatisfactory as well.  
  
After collecting Nadia and encouraging her to put her assortment of plastic balls behind, Nichol realized Trowa stayed only a few feet away, hovering as if unwilling to leave. "Hey, Barton. What's your number, in case you're going to be in the area again?"  
  
Trowa seemed surprised, but complied. Nichol didn't blame him. He wasn't quite sure why he asked even as he watched Trowa's narrow fingers scribble down the information. Fumbling to justify himself, Nichol supplied, "I can't say I don't understand what you're feeling. About the theater. It's different on the outside." With that, they parted ways.  
  
After obsessively plotting Trowa Barton's downfall, the anticlimax was having someone completely other than Nichol bring it about. Simultaneously, as he encouraged Nadia to accept the restraints of her car seat, Nichol felt a perverse curiosity at how deep Barton's wound cut. Nadia settled back into the seat, cooperating only after her father agreed to give her a kiss.  
  
"You're making your old man soft," Nichol felt his resurfacing tenacity dissolve as she watched him with dark violet eyes, framed by solemn dark lashes. The whole while her girlish voice continuing to chatter about whatever was fascinating her just then.  
  
As he pulled away and closed the back car door, Nichol watched as Trowa drove the same dusty, blue-grey Chevy out of the lot and down the main stretch of the highway. Shaking his head, Nichol found most of his thoughts that evening returning to the time he spent in the theater. Drawn back to those memories repeatedly.  
  
***  
  
Those same memories called him back to the city, and, as he walked the final blocks from the parking garage and toward the corner theater called the Road Rage, Nichol felt the rush of those same moments of the past juxtaposing on the same brick walls and front glass full of posters advertising their latest show 'Bleed. The first difference was purchasing a ticket. He started at it as if never having seen one before. He certainly had never needed to pay to go inside the building before.  
  
The front room had several new chairs in it where some of the evening's audience was reclining, waiting for admission to the auditorium and the stage. Nichol took a toothpick from the box balancing on the front desk and chewed it thoughtfully. Leaning against one wall and staying in the shadows. While he knew the cast was busy scurrying around backstage, he still didn't want to be seen prematurely. Because of the holiday, Nadia was staying with her mother, and Nichol hadn't felt like warning anyone he was coming. Not even Dorothy.  
  
For a closing night, the audience was rather small. No more than fifty people in a theater that easily seated four times that many. And from what he had heard of their conversation, this was a multiple viewing for many of that fifty. Road Rage had the knack for growing loyal disciples in the audience. Nichol sat along the outside edge, knowing that would be the best place to remain unobvious. Slouching into the well worn, comfortable seat, he tucked his chin into the full grey cloth of his turtleneck and crossed his arms, still wearing his leather jacket. One thing hadn't changed, the theater was still unbearable chilly to him.  
  
He hadn't bothered with a playbill, since the cast he was already intimately familiar with. Dorothy, in his opinion, succeeded in charming the audience most; although, hers was a complicated and dubious character. Quite fitting, which Nichol credited to Saitou's casting methods. Smirking bitterly at how during his tenure, Nichol tended to play the crafty or underhanded characters. Just because he had a little habit of watching out only for himself.  
  
That evening, he also observed that Saitou had cast Barton as the dependable 'best friend.' Another typecasting, this one annoyed him. Everyone had overlooked Trowa's tactlessness when Heero Yuy had begun to shag Barton consistently. Even when playing a pivotal role and continually missing rehearsals, Trowa stayed in rigid Saitou's good graces. While the old anger danced on the edges of his thoughts, Nichol snorted with humor. When they had crossed paths, Trowa had said he was leaving to find 'euphoria' again. Sounded to Nichol like Trowa hadn't been getting good sex - if any.  
  
Tracking the lean actor as he crossed the stage, Nichol wondered if the friendly Road Rage crew was going to send their reliable actor out in good style. So he followed them, as after shutting down the show, they quite predictably crossed over to the International Velvet.  
  
***  
  
Even in the shadows and after being absent for so long, Nichol still drew people to him while he lounged at the bar. Watching from one far corner as the regular Road Rage cast paraded Barton with affection. Back when he was one of them . . . but he knew that wasn't quite right. He never had been one of them. Nor had he wished to be. That Nichol had no interest in participating in community, he took each day like a game and left it with no attachments. The dozen women who had passed by him with lingering gazes at one point might have interested him. As a plaything.  
  
But remembering how Nadia liked to chastise him for not properly reading the voice of the Big Bad Wolf, Nichol more often found himself wondering how he could protect her from a world full of bastards. Fooling around hardly interested him anymore, let alone existed as his favorite pass time.  
  
It certainly didn't amuse him as much as watching Barton make a fool of himself.  
  
Juri Arisugawa had made Trowa dance with her several times. But with any woman except his sister, Barton lost all ability to dance. Spending most of his time smiling sheepishly, Trowa only used his hands to pull back his reddish-brown hair (which still hung boyishly long) and making appearances to offer an excuse or a look of outright apology. Obviously only occupied with boys, Barton didn't know how to entertain a lady. Nichol almost snorted his drink when Trowa finally got Juri to let him sit down. And he sat down with Dorothy.  
  
Seeing his opportunity to stir trouble, Nichol crossed over to where they sat. Trowa apparently stating to relax after his unsuccessful turns around the dance floor.  
  
"Damn you, Trowa Barton," Dorothy's tone held the earnest affection reserved only for the lanky actor next to her.  
  
"And here I thought that was supposed to be my line?" Nichol smirked as Trowa sloshed a good deal of his drink across the tabletop.  
  
"Be civil, Nichol. What are you doing here?" Dorothy's gaze pierced Nichol clean through, her initial reaction of distrust.  
  
"I was in the area," Perturbed, Nichol shifted his weight, but maintained his lofty tone. The last thing he wanted to do was demonstrate a loss of face, even though he had changed from the man who normally lurked around the edges of the International Velvet and other more disreputable establishments. "I stopped by to see the show."  
  
Then he found himself pinned between Dorothy's arms. Her embrace first seen as an invasion, then welcome as Nichol relaxed. Even though they had kept in touch, Nichol hadn't seen her in months. Arguably, Dorothy was the one person Nichol regarded as a friend, and a friend whose good opinion was sought-after. After idle, polite conversation, Nichol had to smirk at Trowa's expression. One that seemed almost dazzled, or it could have been the new strobe light the Velvet used after eleven.  
  
Remembering the awkwardness on the dance floor, Nichol recollected the self- assurance that Trowa had when he had his boyfriend near, "If I remember correctly," Nichol cocked his head and made sure to pin down Trowa's reaction, "This is the song where Yuy used to tangle it up with you on the dance floor, Barton."  
  
He hardly heard Dorothy's snide defense when Trowa didn't respond. Nichol was remembering how it had been Yuy alone that brought out Trowa Barton's more basic emotions. The ones that made him less that perfect, and perfectly human. The vulnerable responses that piqued Nichol's interest in the person everyone else idolized. Even Heero Yuy had idolized the slim idiot since Yuy didn't think much past his limited desires to see Trowa's dependence on his lover. Nichol wondered if he could pull that vulnerable side out of Trowa again.  
  
"Want to dance?" Nichol left his request to hover in irritating ambiguity. Dorothy accepting before she noticed Nichol's teasing twist in his lips. Knowing that Trowa was watching, Nichol decided to show him how a man danced with a woman. It took Dorothy only two minutes to put Nichol back in his place.  
  
They shared a laugh. But Nichol knew he hadn't let Dorothy in on what he found most amusing. The lingering thought that he wouldn't have minded putting his hands on Trowa Barton. To experience Barton in his personal playground of pleasure. To partially reconstruct the competition Nichol felt.  
  
And partly to see if he could find what it was in Trowa Barton that made him so intrigued and so goddamn horny.  
  
***  
  
Dorothy called him the next day, "Nichol, you . . . why did you come back to the theater?"  
  
Cradling the portable phone between his shoulder and right ear, Nichol followed his returned daughter around the kitchen. Systematically using whatever means necessary to restore his immaculate kitchen to it's pristine condition after the morning 'toddler invasion' known to Nadia and most other people as breakfast. Nichol stood, watching Nadia wander off to the living room with a package of special markers that only left color on special paper.  
  
"To see the show."  
  
"Uh huh," Dorothy's laugh which followed played almost every note on a musical scale, "I think you came back to crash Trowa's bon voyage party."  
  
"Maybe I did."  
  
"Trowa mentioned that he saw you and Nadia not too long ago." Dorothy continued to pry, and Nichol debated spinning her some yarn about doing research for his next editorial entitled, 'Watered Down Booze and Other Signs of Social Decay.'  
  
"We happened to be at the same greasy feast restaurant that Nadia loves," Nichol said simply, "Could have happened to anyone."  
  
"I don't know," He could imagine Dorothy curled to one end of her white couch that matched the one she'd picked for Nichol's new living room decoration. One spared from Nadia's impromptu coloring by the Crayola's miraculous inventions of childproof markers. "I'd say you were asking Trowa to dance. You aren't trying to amuse yourself with that old rivalry again. I thought Nadia had finally given you a chance to devote your affections on someone who's last name does not start with an 'U'?"  
  
Nichol sighed, "You know I've given up on the Lady."  
  
"Funny you should put it that way," Dorothy would have been twirling the antique phone's cord around her finger, he could hear the level of plotting increase in her tone, "Trowa's finally giving up on his Heero . . . except . . ."  
  
Nichol fought down his reflexive curiosity, trying to keep it out of his tone, even as he wondered what the latest news was regarding Barton's sporadic lover, "Except?"  
  
"Well, it seems that Heero's getting married and has it in his head that Trowa would like being invited." Dorothy spoke more quickly, causing the pause afterwards to sit longer than Nichol would have liked while he prepared a response.  
  
"I'm sure that'll go over quite lovely, why are you telling me?"  
  
"Trowa doesn't know yet." Dorothy admitted, "And after talking with Catherine and Juri, we've suddenly hit upon the thought that if Trowa heard it from you . . . he might not take it as seriously."  
  
"As seriously?" Nichol guffawed, trying to imagine explaining anything like that to Barton. Picturing Trowa's lips in a girlish tremble and a ridiculous cascade of tears and punching fists. Shaking the ridiculous image from his forethoughts, Nichol hit upon what might be truth, "You're giving me a chance to shatter Barton's heart for good, but . . ."  
  
"Do you think Catherine Bloom would go along with that?" Dorothy clucked her tongue, which resounded through the telephone line.  
  
"You want me to be the punching bag?"  
  
"No," Dorothy replied simply, "We just can't bring ourselves . . . he's driving through there to see Catherine for Thanksgiving. I have his number, just tell him to stop by and . . ."  
  
"I have his number." Nichol snarled, then realized the mistake of his spitfire agreement. If she found it peculiar, Dorothy didn't comment. Once filling in on the particulars, Nichol ended the conversation without so much as a good-bye and immediately dialed Trowa Barton's number before he could second-guess his actions.  
  
It wasn't until Barton had hung up his end that Nichol realized that Trowa had agreed.  
  
***  
  
Of course, with the holiday, Nichol didn't have his daughter to hide behind. Nadia was his constant delight; likewise, she was a splendid distraction whenever someone uninteresting tried to engage him in conversation. A million trips to the grocery store, bank or fast food restaurant ended up with Nadia charming every fellow customer or employee in the establishment.  
  
Of course the first thing Trowa said as he rushed in from the autumn rain was, "No Nadia?"  
  
"Holiday again." Nichol disliked repeating himself, but the irritation was lost after Nichol took Trowa's full form in at a glance. His auburn hair was kinking into waves around his face and separating into individual, thin strands where the rain had touched it. Trowa rubbed at a few drops that lingered on his boyishly soft cheeks. For being as tall as he was, Trowa seemed eternally young in those conditions.  
  
But that didn't keep Nichol's guest from irritating his host, "So she's staying with Shiori?"  
  
"Don't tell me you're the last one to have figured that out?" Nichol was on civil terms with the girl, but he hated sharing Nadia with her. He blamed all of Nadia's childish vices on her mother's disposition.  
  
Not that Nichol would claim to be perfect.  
  
Not like Trowa Barton, who was glancing around the home with interest. Leaning around the doorway into the living room, then standing straighter glancing back at Nichol with an amused light in his eyes, "I'm surprised you keep this place clean?"  
  
Nichol tried to imagine what Trowa's home must look like. Since at that moment, Barton looked surprisingly comfortable. At ease in his flannel and jeans, fitted over his lithe figure. Almost playfully, Trowa plopped, half sprawled, onto the full couch. Visiting Nichol's home such an unlikely occurrence that a pleased smile crossed his features. A light chuckle coming from Trowa as he inquired about Nichol's business with him, "You wanted me to stop by because . . . "  
  
The amiable glow in Trowa's green eyes when directed at Nichol for the first time almost made him reconsider the duty Dorothy had given him. His obligation started to irritate him like the dull ache of letting Nadia from his arms when Shiori took their daughter for the holidays. Trying to dissuade Nadia's hurt by kissing it away. Which was the first time he ever associate himself to the idea of kissing the man in front of him.  
  
So as he heard himself telling Trowa about Heero's coming marriage, Nichol faced Trowa Barton's despair seconds before the truth stuck home. Feeling and identifying with the simple human pain behind losing a loved one - for a short time, or forever. Before Trowa could form words on his opening lips, Nichol reacted to the lust he felt at Trowa's bewilderment.  
  
Then everything moved quicker than his thoughts. Shoving Trowa back onto the couch, Nichol crushed his lips over Trowa's half-open mouth -- some coherent corner of his mind briefly wondering if he cruelly and always had been waiting for the moment of his rival's undoing to accomplish just this. Enjoying the groan that escaped from the other man's throat. He pressed more firmly against the wet fabric over Trowa's shoulders, sliding his hands downward.  
  
Briefly, as he felt Trowa's body respond under him, Nichol wondered how far he could take Trowa's pent up emotions. Testing with his weight to rub their bodies together. With his eyes closed, Nichol still fully felt the appreciable and singular impression of the masculine body beneath him. Roaming to exploring every difference.  
  
Then determined fingers caught his wrist and Nichol immediately pulled back. His eyes refocusing as he struggled for a coherent thought, "Are you okay?"  
  
"Okay?" Trowa gasped, his hair amusingly tousled, "Okay with . . . okay with what?"  
  
Nichol relaxed, immediately relieved by basking in Trowa's nonplussed reactions. A strange click of Trowa's jaw, the way his eyes fell demurely to the side. Nothing was said about Nichol's unexpected distraction, and he collapsed forward. The fraction of terror that remained of his own actions dissolving as he finished his task. Providing in a straightforward manner detail after detail of Heero Yuy's adventures into straight life. All the while pinning Trowa back so that all he could do to react was absorb.  
  
"Do you understand?" Nichol took the tone he used with Nadia after explaining something new to her, like why it was important to learn to read musical notations or how one must always hold her father's hand while crossing the street.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You aren't going to do anything stupid?" Nichol pushed, knowing that a suicidal Barton would certainly put himself in at least the bad graces of three powerful women.  
  
"No."  
  
"Good." Nichol leaned back, crossing his arms over Trowa's chest, since he suddenly wasn't willing to let him go. Wondering if Trowa Barton would be into anything stupid like letting Nichol have sex with him. Trying to hide those thoughts with specific excuses that sounded strange in his own ears.  
  
"So I got drafted." Nichol finished explaining, and being terribly amused by Barton's incredulous expression, he finished his verbalized rational with a brief, noisy kiss. It disappointed Nichol a little that one action turned Trowa's malleable confusion into one frozen look of displeasure at being teased.  
  
"I know he meant a lot to you." Nichol wondered why he was offering Barton any compassion, "We all want you to move on." He switched pronouns, hiding his uncertainty behind Barton's girl friends, "But we all understand."  
  
The movement away from Trowa was so decisive, that Nichol used the momentum to guide him to the front door. It was still raining. He held the door open as Trowa ran his fingers through his drying hair. A defensive movement and Nichol caught himself starting to mirror it. His own hand wanting to hide, woven into his own dark curls.  
  
"Can you drive?" Nichol asked wonderingly, as all of Trowa's responses were delayed. As if the taller, more delicately featured man were still sorting through the flood of reactions available to him and not finding anything appropriate. Nichol didn't know if telling Barton about that Heero Yuy wasn't coming back to his former lover made any difference to his own aggressiveness, but he couldn't wait to close the door behind him for his own relief.  
  
"What were you thinking?" Nichol shook his head, trying to find an excuse for his amorous behavior. Wondering when the attraction to Trowa Barton had surfaced and how to put it back. "I've been celibate too long." He leaned against the door for a long time before he felt comfortable enough to walk again. And he didn't sit on the couch afterwards, choosing other chairs instead.  
  
***  
  
Using time to reconstruct his memories of that evening and distracting himself with overseeing piano lessons for Nadia, Nichol decided he must have been pretty hard up for some action in order to press Barton like that. Then it became a grand way to surprise Trowa past his distress over losing Heero. Everything that he'd heard from Dorothy and seen himself around the theater had indicated that Trowa Barton let himself become too emotionally attached to a childhood obsession. So in the end, Nichol prided himself on being clever.  
  
That didn't exactly explain the fantasies that involved sliding his palms across a smoothed chest, popping buttons on a burgundy flannel shirt and kissing someone who smelled like rainwater. Afterwards, it left him quite unsettled in the morning.  
  
Nevertheless, his irritation waned and from time to time, he wondered what happened to Trowa next. Whenever Dorothy called, he felt that was a subject better left unexplored, even though he listened closely for anything she might have said. Without Heero, Trowa could have found another lover, jumped off a bridge or even turned straight for that matter. Although, Nichol somewhat doubted them all.  
  
Of course, he'd forgotten the mystery after months of negotiating privileges to have Nadia stay with him during the school year and summers both. Shiori finding better lawyers, and Nichol enduring extended delays.  
  
The judge finally heard Nichol's request and agreed to it. That afternoon, he and Nadia read together. Nadia on her feet, leaning across his back while he sat on the floor holding the book itself so she could still see it. She wrapped one arm around his neck and absently pulled at her father's hair with the other, studying the words more closely as she peered over Nichol's shoulder. "I'm not sure." She admitted at last, whispering in his ear.  
  
"What's the first letter?" Nichol prompted patiently, but was interrupted by an unexpected knock.  
  
And an unexpected visitor, "I was on my way to Catherine's and thought I'd stop by."  
  
"Without asking?" Nichol asked, perplexed. Feeling Nadia lean against his leg, and biting back a few choice insults he usually greeted with. But that wasn't exactly right. It had been years since he'd truly held any ill will toward the younger man.  
  
"Can I come in?" Trowa's brashness overlooked every obvious indication that he wasn't welcome. Bending his head forward, Trowa addressed Nadia next, "You bring out the best in your daddy, Nadia."  
  
Not knowing what Barton meant, Nichol responded automatically, "Unlike some people."  
  
"Mostly me." Trowa lifted his eyes and fixed an amused expression there as his lips curled around his elusive smile, "Why is it I bring out the worst in you?"  
  
Nichol found himself entertaining the old grievance about Trowa's intrinsic model of perfection over which everyone else had fawned themselves. Not quite certain with his unpracticed answer. Not quite certain what Trowa had in mind and wondering where time had changed the actor. Feeling vulnerable to everything and blaming it on the fact Nichol was wearing only socks.  
  
"I'm not perfect." Trowa shook his head docilely.  
  
Unimpressed, Nichol crossed his arms, "It irritates me that you pretend to be." He want to see a chink in Trowa's self-appointed armor, to make Trowa react, and experienced a rush of smugness Trowa shoved him. Held him against the wall. The delight laced with strange expectation, knowing from the heat between them what to anticipate, "I suppose you're not going to ask are you?" This Barton interested him.  
  
"No."  
  
As Trowa reached in to reciprocate the forcefulness of their first kiss, Nichol wondered if Barton had come for his euphoric moment. Wondered if Trowa thought screwing his antagonist might bring some needed epiphany. Unless Trowa had found that already and it had brought him back.  
  
With nowhere to move to and little opportunity to make any coherent noises, Nichol hit his head against the wall. The sound distracting Trowa, having him pull away briefly. "Yeah," Nichol smirked, glancing down. "I know why you're here."  
  
If Trowa was half as good as Nichol's dreams, it might be worth his while.  
  
"Are you going to send me away?" Trowa's yielding tone struck a strange emotion in Nichol. Almost as much incredibility as if Nadia had asked the same.  
  
"We'll see." Nichol responded, vaguely. Afraid of thinking about must of anything. Trying to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head and not reacting.any more strongly to the impression of Trowa's body.  
  
Then all contact was gone.  
  
Nadia skipping down the hall pleased that the visitor was going to take her out for dinner.  
  
***  
  
"Daddy!"  
  
Nichol opened his eyes a second time to see Nadia's inches away, sparkling mischievously. "What is it, sweetheart?" Nichol glanced at his watch, the only thing he was wearing besides the bed sheets.  
  
"Trowa made snowman pancakes." She said solemnly, having recently learned to disguise some of her enthusiasm to capture a grown-up's attention sooner. It bothered him a little that she was noticing and adopting his repressive nature.  
  
"Snowmen, huh?" Nichol balanced on his elbow then closed the inches to kiss her forehead, "That's nice."  
  
"Yes, it is." Nadia crossed her arms, another terrible trait from her father, then she adopted her serious voice again, "Does Trowa get to stay longer this time?"  
  
The affair had been spontaneous at first, with Trowa stopping by unannounced whenever he was visiting his stepsister. Save for his increasing desire to screw Trowa Barton had surfaced from somewhere and following through had become one of his favorite pass times. Therefore, Nichol had started inviting Trowa over for weekends, allowing for hours of not-sex, which involved some reluctant attachment to simply talking with Trowa. Regardless of timing, Nadia had taken to Trowa immediately. For her birthday party, Nichol told her she could have anything she wanted, and Nadia listed quite assuredly three things: peppermint cake, peppermint ice cream, and Trowa.  
  
Nadia scampered off after Nichol reassured her that Trowa would be there 'for a while.'  
  
Although, Nichol sometimes wondered how long that could last.  
  
Trowa came back into their lives after he claimed to have made his peace with his past. Nichol accused him of jumping from one obsession to another. To which Trowa had argued if that was such a bad thing. Trowa never claimed anything from Nichol other than a good romp in bed, a clever discussion over dinner, or use of his kitchen. All of which Nichol found agreeable.  
  
Wearing only a pair of the pajama bottoms Nichol normally kept around for Trowa, he paused to stare wonderingly at the back of his . . . lover. The word came to mind and fit better than something distant like partner. But even when intimate, Nichol hesitated to call it love. Hesitated, while he watched Trowa work with a sufficiently large bowl of pancake batter tucked in one arm, the other spinning a plastic spoon into it and then bringing it to the warmed pan to sizzle and cook. Nadia was at the table, chewing part of her snowman that had been already divided into bite size pieces.  
  
He refrained from the comment that came to mind. Then marveled that he was refraining to keep from potentially insulting Trowa. He breathed a laugh.  
  
"What's this?" Trowa turned part way, using his dexterous lips to first blow his hair back from his face and next take a sudden kiss from Nichol.  
  
"You're so domestic." Nichol said, trying to find a way to not sound condescending, letting one hand sit against Trowa's back while inspecting the damage to his typically spotless kitchen.  
  
"I'm just playing wife . . . for the moment." Emphasized Trowa, shrugging, "Don't get too used to it or it's going to be a long two weeks."  
  
Nichol felt his sloppy grin and tried to hide it, "How did you know I was going to say that?"  
  
Trowa raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but Nadia answered before Trowa had an opportunity to respond.  
  
"Because you always say that, daddy." She glanced between them, innocently chewing. Swallowing, before adding, "When I ask, Mommy says that, like with me, you just might insist on keeping Trowa here forever."  
  
"I just might." Nichol caught Trowa's amused glance.  
  
"If you ask nicely, I'm sure Trowa wouldn't mind."  
  
"Listening to your daughter?" The taller man familiarly nudged his shoulder into Nichol's.  
  
"Give me two weeks." Nichol dodged, "And how is it you seem to have managed to find my long misplaced good humor?" He frowned.  
  
"Give me two weeks and we'll see what else I can dig up."  
  
"Two weeks." 


End file.
